Two Bedrooms wshared Bath
by MorganFerdinand
Summary: Two men. One bathroom.


The first time was completely an accident.

Traffic had been bad, there was a massive queue at the chip shop, and by the time he reached the counter and gave them his name, the girl at the till realised she'd given his order to someone else.

("Well, he said his name was John, so how was I supposed to know it weren't his?" had been the girl's reply. She took his order (again), shouted to someone in the kitchen that it was a rush, and told John to wait for it. It completely defeated the purpose of his having phoned ahead and edged him toward a bad mood.)

"You will not believe what I had to go through to get th-." John realised he was talking to an empty room. "Sherlock?" he called once, and then again, louder.

"In the bath," Sherlock called back. John dropped the bag on the sofa and headed for the bath, assuming that Sherlock was conducting some sort of experiment in there.

"You will not believe what I had to go through to get dinner," John said as he came through the door. He was almost done telling the story (having gotten to the part about being told to wait) when he realised that Sherlock was literally in the bath.

"Sorry, you know, you could have said you were _in_ the bath."

Sherlock opened one eye and frowned slightly. "I did."

"I didn't know you meant you were _actually_ in the bath. I thought you were in here... I don't know... timing how long it takes something to go down the toilet or the effects of stomach acid on porcelain."

Sherlock had closed his eye again. He stretched his legs and rested them on the edge of the tub to allow himself to sink lower into the water. "Why would I want to do that again?"

John ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Right. Probably something you did when you were ten or something."

"Eight," said Sherlock.

"Look, I brought dinner, it'll be cold soon, so I'm going to go eat and you can just warm yours up when you're done in here."

"Sounds fine," Sherlock agreed as John left, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

The second time, John was sitting on the toilet with his pants around his ankles when Sherlock walked in, grabbed the newspaper from John's hands, and leaned against the wall.

"I was reading that!" John protested. "And since when do you read the classifieds?"

"Someone is using the 'missed connections' section to plot a robbery. I just need to figure out where they're meeting before the attempt so I can tell Lestrade... a-hah! Thank you!" Sherlock tossed the paper back to John and left.

The third time, Sherlock was in the bath again and John had been standing there, staring at the door for fifteen minutes.

"I'm going to burst. I'm coming in!" He opened the door, slightly surprised that it wasn't locked, and went straight for the toilet without even glancing at Sherlock. John positioned himself so that his back was toward Sherlock and tried not to sigh too loudly while he peed. He'd been holding it too long and God did it feel good to let it out.

"Why would I bother locking it?" Sherlock said. "You're a military man. You've shared facilities with dozens of people, and I'm clearly not at all bothered by it. We're often on the same schedule and this is the bathroom, so it's just more efficient if we share it."

"I assumed that once I was out of the military I wouldn't have to share a bathroom with someone. Not in the at-the-same-time sense, anyhow."

"Does it bother you?"

John thought about it for a minute while he did up his fly and washed his hands. "Not really. It _is_ a lot more practical."

"Glad that's settled. Cup of coffee, John?"

John accepted the task with a quick smirk and barely an eyeroll; he was used to it.

It wasn't long before their morning routine involved sharing the bathroom. John would sit on the (closed) toilet seat, laptop balanced on his knees, skimming through various news websites. Sherlock would relax in the bath with the newspaper. Sometimes Sherlock would suggest items. John would look them up. More often than not, Sherlock would declare them "boring" and they'd move on.

After the third time Lestrade found them there he stopped even raising his eyebrows. It wasn't his business what they got up to in their own home.

Mrs Hudson continued to find it "adorable."


End file.
